


You Live and Learn.

by Accal1a



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hostage Situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3425327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accal1a/pseuds/Accal1a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Introspective Jasper whilst being held hostage by Murphy in S01E12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Live and Learn.

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the episode in terms of plot but all internal monologues/opinions on other characters are my own.
> 
> I just really think that Jasper's eyes were so expressive in that scene and he tended to chat when he was nervous so it seemed logical to assume that his thoughts were also going a mile a minute and then this ficlet was born. :)
> 
> Jasper/Monty if you squint...Jasper/Bellamy if you really squint and kind of turn your head on one side. (Both unintentional on my part!)

You live and learn.

Don't give in to terrorists. One life for the many. It's not like he wasn't already on his fifth chance. At least he'd been kissed. At least he'd stood on the ground.

_No-one was coming to save him._

The thought broke through all the internal babbling he'd started. The babbling that had started the moment he realised he had to stop following Murphy pacing with his own gun. Anything to stop thinking about the fact that despite everything he'd been through and despite all they, as a group, had achieved, he was going to die in what may as well have been the Ark anyway. Gunmetal walls stared back at him, wires threatening to short at any point (though nowhere useful, like near Murphy, he noted) and that damn formidable door, hidden by a part of the parachute; hung to give the Dropship some privacy as the hospital cum armoury.

He'd tried to reason with Murphy to begin with, held his hands out in placation, as if that would be enough to stop a bullet, but he'd tried. Even as he was doing so he knew this only ended one way. It _could_ only end one way.

If he'd been quicker, he'd have had Murphy at gunpoint rather than the other way round. If he'd been more astute, he wouldn't have tipped Murphy off by glancing down at the gun in the first place. Hell, if he'd not been such an idiot he'd have kept his gun when he went to get more gun powder, not left it lying around.

Still, radioing out to Bellamy had been pretty brave, even if he had originally mentally kicked himself for having the radio and the wrath it invoked on Murphy's face. He wondered whether Octavia had been there to hear him do that. He wondered whether she'd remember him when he was gone, mourn his loss.

In a way he wished Monty was there. Not that he would wish a hostage situation on his best friend but it sort of seemed like he should be. Every formative part of his young life had his friend in it and he had assumed that they'd die together too. Floated for their crimes on the same day or released when they came of age and growing old together side by side in matching Ark cabins.

Maybe that was naïve. Who knew what the future held? In fact now it seemed like it was just as likely that they would have suffocated together instead. Stuck in the space station which many had thought would stay up there, self-supporting, forever. The ground was always a mythical place which no-one seriously believed they would return to. Then, amazingly; they were here; they were all free; and then unceremoniously they were flung into a war zone.

Just like that, Jasper was thrown back into the memory of the past: Cheering on a spit of land across a river, high on life, lust and heroism and then sudden, unimaginable, pain. The contrast so stark it somehow made things worse. He blacked out pretty quickly but not so quick that there wasn’t a brief moment when he saw the spear sticking out of his chest, not so fast that he didn’t feel the gurgle of blood which suddenly filled his throat. It was so similar he had difficulty coming back from the memory. The saliva building up in his throat could have been blood; the gag Murphy must have tied when he’d been unconscious was just as effective at constricting his breathing as was the spear through his lung; the ache on his shoulders from having his wrists tied behind him was oddly reminiscent of the ache he felt when tied to that tree; and the overwhelming sense of being alone and of impending death didn’t need a comparison, it was exactly the same - Panther or gun, it made no difference.

He felt his eyes well up but he refused to give Murphy the satisfaction of knowing he was scared. Really, when you came down to it, that’s all it was. Every reason to cry but the thought of Murphy’s self-satisfied smirk kept the tears at bay. They pooled in his eyes, making his vision swim but did not fall. He deliberately tried to blink fewer times, lest an excess of salt water be set free.

He heard Octavia arrive, heard muffled shouts and threats. He nearly smiled but it died before completion. So what if she cared? He was still a dead man.

A crackle of the radio, _his radio_ , made him sit up slightly, the movement sending a bolt of pain down his back. Who knew being tied was so painful? That thought rapidly morphed into a concern and wonder at Murphy and he appraised the older boy. If Jasper had been wrongly and cruelly lynched by a mob, wouldn’t he be angry? He was aware that he would be but was also certain that he wouldn’t have sought revenge in this way - certainly not killing the people who had orchestrated it. Myles was nothing more than a kid. Sure, he’d been involved, but so had half the camp. Where was the line? No, there was something dangerous dancing in Murphy’s eyes, some madness which he was now getting a glimpse of - first hand, more’s the pity.

Jasper wondered what Murphy’s crime had been on the Ark. The one which had caused him to be one of the hundred sent to Earth. Had he always been psychotic? Had he been a killer for years and only his age had saved him? Jasper suddenly wanted to know. Had a morbid (and wasn’t _that_ the truth) fascination with what number he would be. Was it just him and Myles? Was Murphy responsible for any of the other deaths in the camp? Charlotte had killed Wells but what about the other bodies? How many of those were grounder deaths and how many were Murphy’s? Was he just a number, just a tally on Murphy’s ledger? Did his death even matter – and if his death didn’t matter, did his life?

The radio clicked again and Jasper forced himself to focus on what was happening. He heard the last part of Murphy’s sentence, pulled out of his reverie.

“…not exactly in control right now.”

He was dead.

If Murphy was in ‘control’ of the situation this was it. The door was shut and that was that. Maybe Murphy would take pleasure in broadcasting his death to the entire camp, would take pleasure in furthering other people’s misery.

Bellamy’s voice broke through his thoughts this time, sounding slightly tinny coming out of the hashed together walkie-talkie.

“How about you trade him for me?”

That was a _terrible_ idea. Bellamy cared about him? Murphy would kill Bellamy. He would be free though. Who would help lead? - He certainly didn’t think he was up to the task. How could he live knowing that someone had sacrificed themselves for him?

If Jasper hadn’t been gagged he was sure that some of his thoughts would have tumbled out, he always over-talked when he was nervous. He wasn’t sure, if he was able to talk, he would have been able to stop himself from souring the deal. The same bravado (or idiocy a small voice poked) that had caused him to radio the situation to Bellamy initially would have come out again now. He was terrified; and way too young to die but Bellamy was strong and just enough of a dick to be a good leader. He was no-one and if there was a choice, he hoped he’d have the courage to do the right thing for the group. Who the hell knew?

Murphy had glanced over at him then, a thoughtful look on his face and for a split second Jasper thought maybe he could read his mind. Murphy seemed to be assessing him, weighing him up. Jasper knew he looked down right scared. He barely breathed whilst under that hawk-eyed stare.

Murphy must have answered in some way though because then Bellamy spoke again. 

“I walk in, he walks out.”

Jasper wasn’t sure he knew what was going on anymore, he felt like the world was backwards somehow. Earlier, he would have said he hated Bellamy and now here he was, nobly trading himself for him - nothing made sense.

When he’d made his impassioned plea to Bellamy earlier, wanting so desperately to go after Monty he could taste it, he’d been sarcastic, caustic even. He was annoyed, almost desperate, his friend was out there and this guy (and who did he think he was anyway?) was saying they weren’t going to go after him. He was still towing the line though, still fully aware that nothing happened in camp without Bellamy’s say-so. But now? Now, he wasn’t sure if up was down anymore.

There was an eternity, there was a millisecond. He thought nothing, he thought everything all at once and then the door was opening and Murphy was pulling him up roughly and then once again pointing the gun directly at him, gesturing for him to walk down the ramp. He wasn’t sure his legs would support him but it was surprising what you could achieve with the motivation of hot lead. Of course, Murphy could just shoot him in the back anyway as he descended the ramp and still kill Bellamy. Then no-one would win. Who was he kidding? No-one _was_ going to win. 

Murphy nearly _was_ party to Jasper’s legs folding anyway, when he shouted he would shoot Jasper’s leg if Bellamy tried anything. The countdown sent tremors through him. What if the camp rushed Murphy and he died in a hail of bullets? He wasn’t sure what was worse: dying to save Bellamy; or dying in a failed rescue when more people may be injured. It was only absently that he noticed he didn’t have an option to mind where he thought he would live. He must have made peace along the way somewhere without noticing.

His legs held, Murphy pushed him and, in the end, he did stumble on the way down the ramp. He did trip, did fall – bruising his shoulder - but then Octavia was there, pulling the gag out of his mouth and untying his hands. He stood, watching the door close again, this time with him outside and he realised he had nothing at all to say.

Jasper didn’t move from the spot Octavia pulled him to standing from. How could he? Bellamy was in there because of him. He had been bait and now he was free. He hadn’t realised he even liked Bellamy and now he wouldn’t even have the chance to extend the hand of friendship. It would disappear.

Octavia stood near him and even that had no distracting effect. Nothing was more important than looking at that door. If he continued to look at the door then no harm would befall Bellamy. He nearly laughed - what a ridiculous notion! Yet his eyes never left it.

Raven rushed past muttering something about door circuits and suddenly he was angry, energised and wanting to help in a practical way. How dare Murphy put any of them through this? Didn’t they have enough to contend with without this sort of thing happening? Picking up a gun, he followed Raven below the floor, hoping to give the story a happy ending.

The rage nearly consumed him, the need for revenge, for justice. Raven had to shush him and counsel restraint.

When the door opened (and thank whichever god you wanted for Raven Reyes) he was the first one up the ramp. He crept back in, gun first and took a second to understand what he was seeing. Then everything slammed back into focus and he was running, then lifting, not wasting breath to bark orders, just trusting that others would do their part. He lifted Bellamy as high as he could, taking some of the strain off his neck, hopefully allowing him to breathe. He was still thrashing when they walked in so he must have been alive. Please, let him be alive.

Octavia was shouting something but all of Jasper’s focus was on lifting Bellamy as high as possible. His legs were rock steady now, his resolve firm. They’d fix this and then they’d sort out Murphy. He really did need to float this time.

Eventually, Bellamy was on the floor and all Jasper could think and say (he realised after it had happened, seemingly bypassing his brain) was “Breathe!” A vocal prayer which he was saying over and over as some sort of a mantra.

Bellamy was gasping, Octavia was fussing and Jasper had his hand on Bellamy’s chest, as if that would send life through his fingers. Then, remembering he had one person who wasn’t here to thank for this, he shouted his delight at Raven, letting her know that all was okay.

In an instant, Bellamy was up, hoarse but shouting at the ceiling for Murphy. Jasper’s resolve snapped back into focus. Threat? Check. Gun? Check. He was up the ladder moments after Bellamy, looked around at the smoke, the hole in the wall and correctly surmised what had happened. He quipped, not sure what to say.

What Bellamy said next completely changed any perception he’d had of what the other man was like. They were going after Monty, after his friends. After all the ups and downs of emotion, this simple statement stumped him for a second.

When he saw Bellamy start to order people and organise, Jasper realised he had to say something before the moment passed, but words tumbled out not really making any sense. In the end, he settled for a hug and a whispered “Thank you”. His eyes misted again and he harked back to the first few nights on the ground. “Long way from ‘whatever the hell you want.’”

They both shared a tired smile.

The radio crackled again and requested all gunners and they seemed to move as one. Jasper felt taller and more able to deal, equal now to the older man, not cowed. Who knew a second traumatic experience was the cure for the first?

You live and learn and also grow...Apparently.

~Fin~


End file.
